


holding you closer than most { hiatus }

by dormant_bender



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Brotherly Bonding, Denial of Feelings, Dialogue Heavy, Didn't Know They Were Dating, Eventual Romance, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Major Character Injury, One Shot Collection, Slow Burn, barca boys have no chill, hopefully a one shot collection building up the relationship, somewhat accurate timeline, unless i get lazy and forget about this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-01
Updated: 2016-04-13
Packaged: 2018-05-30 13:21:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6425647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dormant_bender/pseuds/dormant_bender
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>sometimes people are oblivious and unaware of what's in front of them; even though it may be obvious to everyone else around you.<br/>—</p><p>Brows furrow once more but the blond decides not to comment on that, and instead offers a warm grin. "Nothing can hold you back except yourself, y'know."</p><p>"Yeah, I know."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. a drop in the ocean;*

**Author's Note:**

> I have got to get a new hobby other than writing Terfinha every night.

Clenched. 

Fists and eyes are clenched even as he's deposited upon the hospital bed, pain surging through his knee and radiating throughout the entirety of his leg. But the physical pain is nothing on the way he's dreading the thought of being absent from his team—his family, his home. 

Of course he hadn't intended on being injured while on the pitch, nor was he expecting it to be as bad as it was. Perhaps a career-ending injury, one of the doctors had murmured lowly to his right, and all he can think was that this was the end for him and the one dream he had always mercilessly chased with such an open heart, eyes wide open and endlessly running toward his goal.

But now it all seemed in vain, the way tears steadily rolls down his cheeks, staining the pillow case he rests his head upon. Heavy lids remain tightly clenched as he doesn't desire even glancing at his ailed knee—it was a torn ACL, they had said, and that he had a chance of recovery with a litany of physical therapy, as well as surgery.

Not that he was fond of pointed objects surging into his skin or having fingers prodding around on the inside of his body. But he received the information and takes it all in, teeth clenched tightly, as he thinks about what would be of his future as a footballer and whether or not he would have a career at the club of his dreams anymore.

Once given the opportunity, he calls his family to alert them of the news, but they are already aware as the information has aired on local television stations and was present online with a multitude of articles that question his future. Which was not what he needed, not right now.

He tries not to cry when he talks to his brother, who is sympathetic, but wishes him the best and tells him that everything would be okay and that he was bound to come back stronger. His mother, of course, tells him she loves him and to keep his mind off of everything because what genuinely mattered was his recovery.

Then he was prompted to get much-needed rest, and that's exactly what he does. It comes almost as quickly as he lays back against the pillows and adjusts against the freshly-laundered linen that smells far too heavily of bleach. The way his leg is propped up in a sling is less than comfortable but somehow he manages to find slumber effortlessly, dreams random and diverse, none about what he had endured but hours earlier.

He's awoken with a start when a hand gently rubs at his shoulder, and he finds a pair of concerned eyes staring back at him. It takes a twitch before a small smile, barely there if one looked close enough, manages to quirk upwards.

"Hey." 

Rafinha wets his chapped lips and he offers a small nod, "Hey.."

Marc hovers over his cot for a moment, eyes scanning the entirety of his form, before offering a reassuring smile. He plops into the nearest seat, the closest by his bedside, and meets the latter halfway as he twines their fingers. "How's everything?"

A snort. "I'm, uh.. I'm sure you've read about it, it's everywhere.." Murmurs the brunet bitterly as he glances upwards to the ceiling, eyes narrowing as if searching for something that's obviously not there.

Pale fingers tighten within the latter's as he nods hesitantly, lips quirking ever so slightly down. "I—Yeah, actually, I have. And the articles said that you're okay, that you'll recover, but—But I want to know how you really feel." Dark brows are furrowed as he studies the Brazilian's face, and he notes the way his jaw firmly clenches.

Chocolate eyes flicker back and forth as he gazes at the ceiling until he finally locks gazes with the German, and he feels the resolve he had sluggishly been building dissolve. The metaphorical wall he had built to defend his emotions was pointedly being struck until holes appear on the surface, much like the way he feels the familiar prick of tears pressing at the back of his eyeballs.

What he manages is a weak shake of his head and the tears are returning to glide down the planes of his cheeks to stain the stupid, bleached t-shirt they had somehow managed to wrestle upon his less than cooperative body. But he doesn't speak a word, he doesn't have to, and that was Marc's cue to lean across the cot.

Nimble fingers swipe beneath the crescent of his eyelids to brush away the tears that bead there, halting their descent down his countenance. "Hey, hey.. None of that, Rafa. What's there to cry about?"

"V-você está falando sério?"

For a moment the male pauses to contemplate the words before realization paints his countenance and he offers a chuckle. "You fail to see the positives.." 

"There are none.. Haven't you seen my leg?" 

Okay, so. He winces at that and tries to play it off as he spares a glance in the direction of his wounded leg, and decides that it did look bad, but that was only when you stared too long at it. "I have, yes. But that doesn't mean it's the end of the world, don't you understand?"

Tears continue to fall from his reddened eyes and the blond continues to religiously swipe them away, fingers lingering a moment longer than they probably should have as they brush along the smooth—albeit damp—skin of his cheek. If the brunet notices, however, he doesn't breath a word and instead just stares at the blond in quiet inquisition.

"Football is my world, and without it, it might as well be over." Rafina murmurs defensively as he instead focuses his attention on the quilt that wraps snugly around his form, nose crinkling in disdain: "This thing isn't helping either."

Marc attempts to fight the snicker that leaves his lips at that, it was classic Rafinha and it meant that at least he still had his personality, though he had the faint feeling that his pride had been somehow wounded along with his leg. "I'll call one of the nurses later and ask them for something less.. Rainbow-like." He amends softly, offering the latter's fingers a warm squeeze. "You're still not seeing the bright side of this, though."

"Because there's not much to see other than these four walls for the next few months.."

"Sometimes you have to get knocked down in order to get back up again," begins the blond as he pointedly stares at his injured knee that is purpled and bruised. "This is just a small little blip on your timeline, and it's not going to change anything on the outside. It's just going to make you stronger on the inside." And those cerulean eyes are flashing back to Rafinha then, his idle hand slanting over the latter's chest. "And in there."

Plump lips part to make a cheeky retort only to close moments later when no audible words spill from his lips. Though he does feel the tell-tale acceleration of his heart and he hopes that the blond is oblivious to the vigorous palpitations. "My heart is feeling pretty strong," quips the Brazilian with the tiny hints of a bashful smile twitching upon his lips. "My pride on the other hand? It's, uh—It's not entirely there right now."

"I figured that," The scowl he receives is almost laughable if not for the serious look gleaming within chocolate hues. "No, it's just—.. It's not permanent. Just wait till everything sorts out and you're back on the pitch, you're going to better than you are right now." Marc reassures, the door to the room squeaking on its hinges, a nurse appearing with a soft smile.

Nothing is said from the young woman though, and she only passes a tray off to the footballer's bedside table and leaves. For a moment she lingers near the door, glancing between the two men, and the tiniest of knowing smiles plasters across her faintly glossed lips. Her fingers tap against the door frame as if she might say somethng to the two, but just shakes her head, leaving them back to the silence.

"Are you up for eating? Or is your pride wanting to go on a hunger-strike to prove some sort of point?"

Rafinha purses his lips at that and even uses effort to roll his eyes in the most dramatic fashion. "My pride isn't that damaged, though you can tell it is if I'm eating hospital food." Marc is already scrambling to his feet to fetch that tray and he maneuvers the small table so it slants across the latter's lap, gently discarding the tray onto its clean surface.

"You don't really have a choice right now, but I promise to buy you something good when you get out of here." He genuinely means it as he offers a pale pinkie towards the male who eyes it with a quirked brow, eventually huffing and twisting his pinkie around the German's. 

One of his arms swipes across his countenance before he picks up one of the spoons on the tray, his idle fingers plucking at the assortment of vegetables and flicking the clear cup of orange gelatin. It barely moves, he notes, and he glances at Marc as if to confirm the peculiarity. All the bastard does is raise his hands defensively before him.

"Is hospital food actually food?" Murmurs the brunet as he sniffles, scooping up a dollop of jello upon the spoon, offering it toward the blond who shakes his head in disdain. "I'm already hurt, and I don't really want food poisoning, so it would mean a lot if you ate some of this before I do."

Marc purses his lips and eyes the spoon of the stiff substance but leans forward to take the spoon into his mouth nonetheless. Surprisingly he actually sighs in content as he snatches up the spoon for himself, scooping up a dollop, and pressing the rounded end against Rafinha's lips: "It tastes a lot better than it looks, Rafa." He insists with an encouraging nod of his head and, despite the weariness in his gaze, he parts his lips to hesitantly sucks up the substance.

"That's heaven in a cup, meu deus." He hisses in what appears to be bewilderment as he takes the spoon back to dig into the remainder of the gelatin.

Silence fills the sterilized room once more as the blond allows the latter to eat his food in peace. All he can do is watch as he makes different faces upon trying the different foods upon the plate, coughing and spitting out some of the broccoli into a napkin, to which the blond chuckles. He supposes he understood that, broccoli was only good with cheese, or in some type of casserole—he was picky though, and would only eat it if his mother made it for him.

Minutes tick by in amusing silence for the blond until the brunet is finally done, or so he says though he still has bits of vegetables and meat left upon his plate. Marc clucks his tongue as he rises to his feet to push the small table away into the corner it was crooked in previously, then decidedly plops onto the bottom of the bed.

"Are you really going to be okay?" Marc hesitantly questions with a cant of his head as he unconsciously reaches forward to swipe a bit of gelatin that plastered to the corner of his mouth. He brings the thumb to his lips and licks it off simply, chocolate eyes following his every movement, clearly intrigued. "Well?"

Rafinha only shrugs a halfhearted shoulder as he settles back against the plush pillow, "I think so, yeah." This time he smiles, a broad and genuine one, and it warms the insides of Marc's form: "I was told by a wise German that things can only go up from here.. After my surgery, I'm gonna get back out there, I have to."

"And you will, you just have to deal with this all just a little while longer. Whenever you're in training, just call me up, I'll come over and play with you."

Russet cheeks darken considerably with a flush at the word phrasing, "I'd, uh—... I think I'd be into that. A lot, actually. A lot into that."

Brows furrow once more but the blond decides not to comment on that, and instead offers a warm grin. "Nothing can hold you back except yourself, y'know."

"Yeah, I know." 

A red tongue makes an appearance to swipe along a plump lower lip, and cerulean eyes are intensely watching the movement. Chocolate eyes are watching the other's reaction to the subtle action and he flushes a deeper crimson when their eyes lock once more; stormy oceans and warm pools of chocolate. Plump lips part to speak, to say something important that he always desired to say, but he's interrupted when the door opens once more.

Tanned forms are pressing through the door and are currently making a bee-line toward the bed, flowers and little cards in hand, as they all broadly smile upon the two forms upon the bed.

"Did you guys finally admit to your fe—" Pale hands are covering Neymar's mouth and preventing him from saying anything else, and Gerard only shakes his head.

"Ignore him." Geri murmurs with a roll of his eyes, the Brazilian being shoved by Dani, who snickers alongside him.

Another one of the group perks up, "Have you kissed yet?" Munir.

Adriano leans against the wall and shakes his head in disapproval, "Merdinha."

Rafinha flushes an impossibly red color as he offers a weak smile towards his fellow teammates, his hand blindly reaching for Marc's, who gladly accepts it. Marc doesn't breathe a word as he gazes into those chocolate eyes, something that the Brazilian can't quite place dwelling within those oceanic depths, but he nods his head in silent understanding.

There would be talks about it—whatever 'it' is later.

And the Brazilian can only hope that the subject goes just as he anticipates it to, his fingers offering a warm squeeze to the latter's, the blond flushing deeply and averting his gaze towards the sheets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really bad at making a series because I lose muse pretty quickly, but I figure since each chapter will be only.. 2k each, maybe? That I can focus long enough to write everything out. (( probably one-shots that are seemingly un-related but revolve around the two building up their relationship. ))
> 
> Wish me luck :3 x


	2. nothing sweeter than my ba—.. best friend;*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> welp. here it is. i hope it's okay? i just proofread it, so i hope it's not littered with mistakes ? c:

Only a few days had gone by since the ill-fated injury that plagued one of their midfielders. But as the saying goes: ' _the show must go on_ ,' and it did. There wasn't time to sit around and mope about the situation, not when there was another game to be played. It meant practice sessions and less time to ponder what would become of the brunet.  
  
Which was probably the healthiest route after all, it wasn't the best for either of their mindsets to dwell on it for too long—especially for one specific blond keeper, whose fingers are typing excitedly at the screen, a tiny smile twitching across his lips.  
  
**| to: heiße Schokolade |**  
**[ text: 2:06PM | 9/20/2015 ]** sleeping beauty, you up yet?  
  
**| to: heiße Schokolade |**  
**[ text: 2:10PM | 9/20/2015 ]** you sleep like a bear in the winter, rafa..  
  
**| from: heiße Schokolade |**  
**[ text: 2:13PM | 9/20/2015 ]** my bad, the nurse says i can't have 'bonding sessions' without eating something first.. you know how that goes, everything tastes like bricks, and its not the best in the world  
  
**| from: heiße Schokolade |**  
**[ text: 2:14PM | 9/20/2015 ]** but anyway, i'm here ! calm down, branca de neve, meu deus. and i wasn't sleeping, i'm on a 'schedule.' merdinha.  
  
**| to: heiße Schokolade |**  
**[ text: 2:14PM | 9/20/2015 ]** I just know you, and you won't wake up until someone wakes you up.. Is your tv on?? The game starts in.. 15 minutes, maybe? You can't miss it, not today anyway.  
  
**| from: heiße Schokolade |**  
**[ text: 2:15PM | 9/20/2015 ]** im not missing it at all, it's already on. i'm just waiting for you idiotas to get out there.. i wouldn't miss this, you should know that..  
  
**| to: heiße Schokolade |**  
**[ text: 2:16PM | 9/20/2015 ]** I'm not playing today but I mean, we're still gonna win it for you. I promise you that much. But, uh, hey? I have to go now, game starts at 2:30.. sort of pushing it rn  
  
**| to: heiße Schokolade |**  
**[ text: 2:16PM | 9/20/2015 ]** I'll tehgfkdhgt neymar says fricção dói ! transar com ele Mais tarde kkkk xD gjflgfdh  
  
**| from: heiße Schokolade |**  
**[ text: 2:18PM | 9/20/2015 ]** eu te odeio  <_< good luck to you all, and keep that bench warm for me, marquinho ;]  
  
**| to: heiße Schokolade |**  
**[ text: 2:19PM | 9/20/2015 ]** Too cool for the bench. :p I'll see you after the win, ich liebe dich  
  
Brows furrow tightly together as he notices what he manages to type, but it's too late to backspace and delete the wording; he had already pressed 'send' and it had already successfully entered the latter's inbox by now. As if that would make things less peculiar between them. Things had been bizarrely tense between the two, almost as if an electric current was passing from form to form, even though he had only been talking to him through text and the occasional Skype call if he could squeeze it in.  
  
But nonetheless he stares at the text a moment longer until he hears the familiar jingle that is none other than the Brazilian who only sends him the kiss-blowing emoji followed by the word 'beijos' and another emoji, this time the 'laughing so hard, you're crying' one. All he can do is smile fondly at the screen, grateful for the familiar gesture, though ivory teeth tug anxiously at his lower lip.  
  
Hands are pushing against his shoulders and he's staggering for foot placement as he glances back to find Neymar clicking his tongue, pointing his finger at the cell phone within the blond's clutches. He parts his lips as if to speak but only snickers come out as he taps his fingers against the locker, his silent way of saying 'stop flirting with Rafinha and join us in the line-up.'  
  
Cheeks flush considerably as he discards the device and jogs towards where everyone is lining up to go to the field, and he thinks for a moment that if they lose, he owed Rafinha something—anything, really. When you break a promise to your bo—friend, best friend—you owed them something in return to make up for things.  
  
And did he just—?  
  
The German doesn't ponder it long as he pressed forward once more, this time by Barta, who only wiggles his brows playfully as he nods towards the field and taps his pointer finger against his temple. And, okay, yeah. He needed to get in the mindset of the game, focus on that, and not the Brazilian currently in a hospital cot watching the game like a fan instead of the player he genuinely was.  
  
He really needed to think about why he thought about the brunet so much, but now was not the time.  
  
-  
  
After a grueling ninety-minutes of anxious nail-biting, a habit the German had thought he had dropped, the time was up and the team was celebrating subtly on the field. All he could do was cheer from his spot on the sidelines and smile smugly to himself that his predictions were true; after all, how could the team even think about losing after something like that had happened to one of their fellow teammates, especially the one everyone seemed to revel in their time with.  
  
Because, really, who didn't like Rafinha? He was bubbly and full of energy with a warm voice that sounded like silk on silk and—He definitely a problem.  
  
Celebrations were in order after the game but the blond was more interested in what the brunet shut-in was up to in his lonely hospital room. Probably lounging and tweeting mercilessly about the win, about how proud he was, more than likely how he wishes he was there to celebrate alongside them.  
  
When he reaches the locker-room, the blond tugs off his jersey and tosses it on the long bench, reaching instead for a simple, black t-shirt that fit his chest snugly along with a pair of black, Adidas joggers. He can hear all the shrieking around him and its only background noise to the male as he discards everything in its rightful place.  
  
Finally he withdraws his phone and finds a variety of text messages there:  
  
**| from: heiße Schokolade |**  
**[ text: 4:02PM | 9/20/2015 ]** meu deus, you actually won!!  
  
**| from: heiße Schokolade |**  
**[ text: 4:02PM | 9/20/2015 ]** since when are you pyschic, marquinho?  
  
**| from: heiße Schokolade |**  
**[ text: 4:03PM | 9/20/2015 ]** 4-1? and at home? fuck yeeeeesss  
  
**| from: heiße Schokolade |**  
**[ text: 4:04PM | 9/20/2015 ]** sos. i think my nurse hates me. i convinced her to let me out of the sling but when the guys got the first goal, i literally jumped out of bed, and now she keeps glaring at me  
  
**| to: heiße Schokolade |**  
**[ text: 4:05PM | 9/20/2015 ]** how did you forget you were injured? lol

 **| to: heiße Schokolade |**  
**[ text: 4:05PM | 9/20/2015 ]** and stop texting me so fast, i can't even respond D:  
  
**| from: heiße Schokolade |**  
**[ text: 4:06PM | 9/20/2015 ]** i was excited and almost cried tears of joy. everyone did great without me.. but anyway, what're you doing tonight? i wanna talk about stuff tonight on skype.. injury updates and stuff  
  
**| to: heiße Schokolade |**  
**[ text: 4:10PM | 9/20/2015 ]** the guys wanna drink and i'm just not feeling the jäger and party scene tonight, was heading back to my flat, actually.. i could stop by the hospital if you want?  
  
**| from: heiße Schokolade |**  
**[ text: 4:11PM | 9/20/2015 ]** nah, it's cool.. you don't have to.. my nurse would probably be even more pissed than she already is, i feel like i'm on house arrest right now. go back to your flat and skype me?  
  
**| to: heiße Schokolade |**  
**[ text: 4:12PM | 9/20/2015 ]** Will do, yeah.. I sort of wanted to see you in person but I guess I can wait? I sort of need to talk to you about.. Stuff.. Too.. But, uh, yeah.. It might take an hour and a half, though, it's pretty cr...  
  
**| to: heiße Schokolade |**  
**[ text: 4:12PM | 9/20/2015 ]** owded here and you know how traffic and things go.. I'll call you when I get there?  
  
**| from: heiße Schokolade |**  
**[ text: 4:15PM | 9/20/2015 ]** i'll count the seconds, meu amor.. ;)  
  
-  
  
It took a lot longer than he had originally assumed it would but that didn't exactly matter as the black car transports him from the stadium and back to his flat; of course they had to take alternative measures since he valued his privacy among all else. But eventually it stutters to a halt in front of his flat and the driver offers him a broad, expecting grin, to which the blond pulls out a hefty bill and hands it off.  
  
He hops out of the car, his bag thrown over his shoulder, and casts the man a grateful grin before he finally pads off towards his front door. He doesn't bother placing his bag in the closet of his room once he gets there and instead deposits it next to the bed, glancing this way and that for his laptop. For a moment he pauses to go to the kitchen to retrieve a bottle of beer, even though he had told himself he wouldn't drink at all that day, and returns a few minutes later to find his laptop completely loaded up.  
  
Of course he already had messages from Rafinha asking about his whereabouts and that he needs to call him as soon as possible, he smiles fondly at that, and clicks the little call icon. It rings once, twice, thrice and the brunet picks up on the fourth and he has the broadest of grins stretched across his plump mouth.  
  
He waves a hand vigorously at the tiny camera on his own laptop and Marc only grins back. He fusses with the top of his beer and raises it towards the camera, "You can't drink, I know, so this one's for you, Rafa."  
  
Rafinha rolls his eyes on the screen and it lags a bit so his face is stuck in that position for a minute before it shows his ivory teeth stretched into a toothy grin. "Yeah, yeah, whatever. Drinking and it's only, what?" The brunet glances down presumably at the corner of his screen and squints: "It's not even seven yet. Shame on you," scolds the Brazilian though he coins him a wink and a thumbs up.  
  
Marc returns the wink with one of his own as he tilts his head back to take a swing of the bitter liquid that burns as it trickles down his throat, but his countenance doesn't contort and his nose doesn't even slightly crinkle. "You know what they say, it's seven o'clock somewhere. So this is actually not that bad."  
  
Rafinha snickers and the blond never knew such a sound could wrap around one in a warm embrace but somehow it did and the German finds himself flushing deeply. "Nah, it is. You Germans drink beer at any time of the day, don't lie either.. I came over once and you drink a whole beer with your cereal." He points an accusative finger at the screen and wags it: "Menino travesso."  
  
Marc can only wince as he recalls that day; going out late at night to a random bar the Brazilian had found had proven futile, he had tried to out-drink the man—which he assumed he could do considering his lineage, let's be real—but had failed and the brunet had ended up accompanying him home and he vaguely remembers falling asleep tangled up in a pretzel of limbs. But of course he had awoken with a pulsing headache that left him cringing as the Brazilian turned on the lights and tugged him out of bed, a full tray of food scattered across the counter, but the German had instead turned to cereal. And a beer.  
  
Somehow the combination managed to dull the pain in his head and he had an interesting start to his day. And, wow. How did he even remember the details?  
  
Finally the German decides on an outward groan as he places the beer upon his nightstand in favor of burying his face within his hands. "Okay, but that was once.. And you got me drunk, so that doesn't count. I don't even like getting drunk, you know that."  
  
"Ohoho. Trying to pin the blame on me? You were having a bad day and it's nice seeing you un-wind, but as you can see, I never did it again." Murmurs the brunet defensively with a raise of his hands, the focus pixelating and the camera on the other end swaying from side to side until the brunet rights the laptop. "You're a cute drunk, though."  
  
"Mein gott, please stop."  
  
One of the most devious smiles twitches across those plump lips, however, and he mentally prepares himself for what he's about to say. "You tried to kiss me when you were drunk, too."  
  
Well, fuck. All he can do is wince at the information, cheeks flushing scarlet, as he reaches for the thin bottle of beer to take another swig. "We're not going to talk about that," and he notices what looks akin to disappointment flicker across the latter's countenance but he quickly smiles softly to avoid questioning.  
  
"Yeah, uh—You're right. Right.. Anyway, yeah.. I wanted to talk to you about my surgery."  
  
But the blond doesn't want to hear about that, not right now, not when he sees the gleam in those chocolate hues dim in comparison for the first time in their conversation that evening. All the blond desires is to see that smile on his lips once more, along with that gleam that's so characteristically Rafinha.  
  
Marc's tongue darts out to soothe his chapped lips and he nods hesitantly, almost fearful of the news. "Go on..?"  
  
"So, uh—Everything should be okay, and it should be over pretty quick. I actually go into surgery two days from now and I'm sort of.. Scared?" And it seems like a lot for the brunet to say, as he never admits to the fears he has. At least not openly like this.  
  
"No, that's understandable, I get that. You'll be better than fine, Rafa, and once it's over you can go into physical therapy and you can play again." Marc reassures with a soft smile, "nothing bad is going to happen to you, so don't be scared. Better yet: you're not allowed to be scared."  
  
Plump lips purse firmly but he snorts nonetheless as he glances upwards for a moment, the blond hears the faint murmurs of a female voice, and the brunet shakes his head. "It's not like I can magically will the fear away, Marquinho."  
  
And the blond nods at that, "I get that, it's just—.. You saying you're scared sort of, kind of makes me scared, too?" It is more a question than a statement, as if he's uncertain as to whether or not he should have allotted that information. "So you can't be scared, okay?"  
  
Chocolate eyes stare in scrutiny at him through the screen and the blond shifts uncomfortably beneath the intense gaze, awkwardly rubbing at his upper arm. "I'll try not to be, it's just—Surgery is a big thing, y'know, I don't want to do it alone."  
  
"Your family will be there, so everything should be alright, yeah?"  
  
"I sort of want you to be there, too." Rafinha murmurs with a small downturn of his lips, eyes also shifting downwards.  
  
Marc can only frown as he scratches at the back of his head, an apologetic smile forming on his lips: "But we uh—You have to know that I would if I could, but we have a game the day after, and there's no way I could be there for those few hours and then at practice and expect to play." Then the look upon the latter's countenance deepened until he's full-on frowning at the screen. "I'm so, so sorry.. If I could cancel the game entirely, I would, but—"  
  
"No, it's okay. I understand, Marquinho, and it's okay." Rafinha offers him a tiny, reassuring smile as he stares at the screen: "You just have to visit me after, alright? You know I can't stay still and in one place for long so this is literal hell for me."  
  
Once more the blond promises: "I know, and I'll be there. Right after the game. Promise."  
  
"You're pretty good at those," quips the Brazilian as he shifts upon his cot until his head is pressed back against the pillows and he's adjusting the angle of his laptop.  
  
"With you I am, or I try to be." Marc agrees as he, too, shifts into a more comfortable position with his laptop resting upon his abdomen. Seconds later he hears the tell-tale ring of his cell phone and he groans, deciding to ignore it.  
  
Rafinha looks at him skeptically and he points to the screen, quirking a curious brow. "Who's that?"  
  
"It's Neymar, and probably the rest of the guys."  
  
"Answer it? I need to congratulate them, too."  
  
Without even contemplating the decision, he prods around his deep pockets to retrieve the shiny device and swipes the screen until he hears a litany of voices yelling through the speaker. He heaves a soft groan as he puts it on speakerphone and he hears Rafinha's voice first, surprisingly.  
  
"Hey guys, I wish I could have been there, that was amazing!"  
  
All he hears is snickers from the other end on the phone and Marc shifts a thumb to turn up the volume so the brunet can hear the other's more clearly: "Yeah, yeah. It was, but I'm more interested in what you guys are up to." It's clearly Neymar's voice, and he's amused at that.  
  
Marc stifles a groan, "We're just talking about his surgery and stuff, I just wanted to make sure he was okay."  
  
Rafinha purses his lips on the screen, and Marc assumes he can hear the shuffling echoing from the phone as well until another voice comes through: "I'm sorry for interrupting your Skype date, M2." And that's Bartra, the blond knows, and he winces.  
  
"No he's not!" Another voice, this one he recognizes as Dani, booms through the receiver and he winces at the loudness of his voice.  
  
"It's not a date," murmurs Rafinha who stares pointedly at the camera at Marc, who only shrugs a halfhearted shoulder.  
  
"When's the real date?" That's Munir in his smooth voice, suave as always. "Or should the guys and I plan one for you two?"  
  
"I—That's not.. That's not necessary." Marc manages to splutter out as he glances back at the screen for assistance from Rafinha, but he's too busy chuckling with a flush painting his russet cheeks.  
  
"Just hang up?"  
  
" _No_!" He hears a litany of voices yell from the receiver and he offers an apology before he hangs up the phone and tosses it halfheartedly across the bed.  
  
Awkward silence falls upon the two, and he notices that it's much like that day when the Brazilian was first admitted to the hospital. This time, however, it seems worse and both men are staring at the other as if waiting for one of them to finally break the silent tension between them. But alas none of the duo speak and it's only bashful scratches at a pale cheek or at the back of a brunet head.  
  
Eventually Rafinha clears his throat and offers a timid smile, this one reaching his eyes, that familiar gleam returning. "So, uh—My nurse brought me food half an hour ago and I haven't eaten dinner yet so I think I should probably do that? Probably now?"  
  
"That seems like a great idea, yeah." Things couldn't get anymore awkward than that, but he detested the thought of jinxing himself in that situation. "I guess I'll let you go then? And actually eat it all this time."  
  
Rafinha rolls his eyes but nods nonetheless as he waves at the screen, "You're worse than my nurse. Call me or something whenever you can? Probably not tomorrow or the day after though, my family is flying in and Thi said he'd Skype me before everything goes down."  
  
"I'll just text you whenever I'm free." Marc regards with a sincere smile as he offers a wave of his own, "take care of yourself for me, okay?"  
  
"Only for you."  
  
With the last of parting smiles and waves, the brunet finally ends the call, and the sound of deafening silence fills the room. It should be impossible that silence is louder than the sounds of warm voices, but somehow it is, and he's left alone in his flat with only his laptop for company. Its soft glow paints his pale countenance in its off-blue tint and he ponders what to do next.  
  
When he checks the clock he sees it's only a few minutes past eight and that he could probably go out to the bar with the guys like they had originally planned, but he decided against that option in favor of closing his laptop. He lays there in silence with his arms folded neatly behind his head and just stares at the ceiling, his ever errant mind flickering with images of pools of chocolate and lips scarlet and plump.  
  
Realization dawns that he never brought the topic up that he so desired but figures that one day the two would talk about what had occurred between them at the hospital; or perhaps he was just being dramatic and making something out of nothing. Surely that was it, so he thinks that he won't bring it up because it wasn't that serious anyway.  
  
Best friends were best friends.  
  
And it was nothing more and nothing less than that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feed my Terfinha addiction, let's bond over the love for this ship. :,)


	3. turn your face towards the sun;*

Time seemed to slow to a halt when one was reveling in the lackluster ambiance of a hospital; or so the brunet thought as he lays in the comfort of his cot, though he is less than comfortable as attempts to shift onto his side. Of course the sling propping his leg up prevents him from doing so and it makes him detest the injury even more, depriving him of daily comforts and the warmth of his teammates.  
  
Stupid injury. Even if it was an accident, though honestly that's debatable, he finds himself resenting Nainggolan. Apologies had been in order and it had seemed more forced than genuine but he had only assumed that would have been enough to at least not dwell on it further but to no avail. His hands still clenched into tight fists and his eyelids clamp down whenever he ponders it for too long; it's all residual energy, he thinks to himself, and he could use some feng-shui to assist in eliminating those negatives.  
  
But alas there he is on the night before his surgery, staring into the darkness at the ceiling, thinking about anything and everything. His parents and siblings had eventually come about an hour or so after the tense situation with Marc, staying as long as they possibly could before being kicked out by his nurse, who seemed to have some sort of peculiar vendetta against him.  
  
Absently he reaches for the little remote connected into his cot to turn on the television, not particularly searching for anything specific, and settles on a station that plays music without any pauses in between. Lips quirk upwards at the thought of the Skype call he'd had with his older brother, Thiago, who had managed to cheer him up within the first minute of hearing his voice:  
  
_"How are you feeling, princesa?" There's a broad grin on his lips and his whiskey hues are bright and reassuring._  
  
_All the brunet could do was purse his lips as he stared into the camera, though the two simultaneously burst into laughter. "Not you, too, Thi." Apparently according to his brother, as well as his teammates, he was their little princess; cute._  
  
_"I think it suits you," murmurs the brunet who shrugs his shoulders. "Seriously, though, how are you? Is everything okay? Mamãe and pai said you were okay despite being a, and I directly quote, '_ pouco diva dramática _.' Now, Rafa, I know you and you can be pretty dramatic, so now I wonder.. What did you even say?" Those whiskey hues are staring pointedly at the screen as if trying to seem serious, but the smile twitching upon his lips states otherwise._  
  
_Rafinha blinks innocently, once, twice, thrice and then mirrors the latter's movements with a shrug of his own shoulder. "I have no idea what you're talking about, honestly. But, yeah, I'm good. Tudo está bem. Could be better, though, with a healed leg and decent food."_  
  
_Thiago only chuckles in response, "That's probably what they were talking about then... Your leg is going to be fine and you can eat all you want whenever you recover. Stop being like that, Rafa. Turn that little frown upside down, yeah? Não carranca. Sorriso, palhaço. Tudo vai ficar bem, pequena príncipe. Tudo está bem, espere meu irmão~" Hums the brunet to an unknown tune that makes the brunet's little frown shift upwards until he's grinning._  
  
_It was a lullaby the older had made when the brunet was just a little boy, something he had completely created on his own and would sing to him when it was late and he couldn't sleep. Thiago had explained it as giving his mother a break—the younger would often keep everyone awake with his crying because he was afraid of the dark—and had soon developed the lullaby after a few nights of hearing soft sobs._  
  
_Rafinha feels tears prick at the back of his eyes at the nostalgia; he hadn't heard that song nor thought about it in such a long period of time that he was just on the cusp of losing the memory entirely. He swipes at his eyes with the back of his hand and stares at the camera at the elder, who only hums along to the tune_  
  
_"I almost forgot about that," muses the Brazilian as he shifts slightly on the cot towards the little table by his side that held a bottle of water. He reaches it successfully with a soft hiss at the movement in his leg and screws off the top to take a much needed sip._  
  
_"Yeah, well—I didn't, as you can see. You were dramatic even as a little boy, Rafa, but I was always there to take care of you and after a minute you would be okay. Which is why I'm telling you now that I love you, okay? You're my little brother and I want you to know that I'll always be here for you, even if I_ can't be there physically."  
  
_So much for ignoring the piercing sensations at the back of his eyes, muses the brunet, as he grits his teeth together in an attempt to halt the brewing tears that turn his eyes glassy. If he wasn't certain about_ _anything else in life, he would always be certain that he had the best big brother in all of the world, and_ _there would never be any debate about that. It was simply fact._  
  
_"I love you, too, Thi.." So much for forming a coherent response that required intricate grammar; he was t_ _oo quickly developing tears and the faint quake of his shoulders as he fights off a sob._  
  
_But Thiago knows his brother well and only clicks his tongue in a scolding manner as he points to the_ _screen, wagging his finger in disapproval. "Don't you cry, Rafael. Unless you want me to sing for you_ _again? Because I will and if I have to, I'll even sing you to sleep."_  
  
_"I-I'm not crying.." The words tumble from his mouth and it all sounds jumbled and messy and barely_ _understandable but somehow Thiago understands every single word and he only chuckles fondly._  
  
_"Right, you're not crying, and you're not gonna cry." Hums the elder male as he glances back towards_ _he heard a voice call his name, "I actually have to go now.." And the look on his countenance is clearly_ _apologetic when he glances towards the camera once more._  
  
_Rafinha figures it's for the best considering he didn't desire sobbing front of his elder brother, so he_ _offers a weak nod of his head. "I'll talk to you soon then? I feel a lot better now.."_  
  
_"That's what big brothers are for, y'know. It's all a part of the job description.. Now go get some sleep,_ _okay? Try not to stay up too late tonight, you have surgery tomorrow afternoon."_  
  
_"You sound like mamãe.." Murmurs the Brazilian as he takes another sip from the half-empty bottle of_ _water before discarding it back on the table with minimum effort. But he's an inch or so off and it_ _tumbles to the floor with a '_ **thud!** ' and he winces at the boisterous sound.  
  
_Thiago quirks a brow but doesn't question it, instead offering another chuckle. "You should really be more_ _careful, Rafael." The elder glances back once more at a more insistent voice and he's releasing an_ _agitated groan. "I really, really have to go. I'll call you sometime tomorrow if you're feeling up to it after_ _your surgery then?"_  
  
_"That'd be good, yeah.. I sort of have to talk to you about something anyway, and I think anesthesia_ _brain will probably be the best way to say it. Free of inhibition and stuff."_  
  
_"Uh—..?" Rafinha motions his hand this way and that at the camera as if telling him to forget it, and the_ _elder only furrows his brows in curiosity. "Right, so... Okay. We'll talk about whatever thing that has you_ _all weird. I love you, little one."_  
  
_"Love you, too.."_  
  
But there is staring at the television program that flickers with images of various musicians that sing soft ballads and the brunet frowns slightly. For some reason it reminds him of Marc, and he swears he sighs wistfully like a schoolgirl at the thought of the blond. They had barely talked at all since that night and he ponders whether or not it was because of the awkward atmosphere?  
  
Still, it would have been nice to talk to him a bit, at least before he undergoes surgery. There's still hope, however, that he would receive a call sometime between him waking up and then prepping for surgery at twelve-thirty that afternoon.  
  
Lids become heavy with sleep after a few minutes tick by until he finally finds himself lulled to sleep by the sounds of the television that echo throughout his dreams. That made him unable to hear the soft beeping from his cell phone that echoes with temporarily unread text messages that he would certainly smile about the next morning.  
  
**| from: branca de neve** |**  
**[ text: 2:36AM | 9/22/2015 ]** Rafa, hey? Are you up? Sorry about not talking much these past 2 days, I play in the game against Celta Vigo and I sort of panicked because I don't think I can do it, not with how I feel right no...  
  
**| from: branca de neve** |**  
**[ text: 2:37AM | 9/22/2015 ]** w... I've been trying to work so hard so we can keep winning, I want you to be happy and proud of me.. Of all of us.. I needed to do this for you. I just don't like seeing you upset or anything that doe...  
  
**| from: branca de neve** |**  
**[ text: 2:38AM | 9/22/2015 ]** sn't let me see your smile. I'll make it up to you? I sent you something from the hotel here in Vigo and I don't know if you got it yet or not? But if you haven't yet, it's a secret. I'll try to come visit afte...  
  
**| from: branca de neve** |**  
**[ text: 2:39AM | 9/22/2015 ]** r the game, I promise. I miss you a lot already and it's only been a few days. Just don't like seeing my best friend upset, I guess? Hope you feel better soon, Rafa. xx  
  
-  
  
Waking up to the sound of rustling and shuffling is what the brunet comes to see as he glances around throughout the brightly illuminated room, burying his face within his hands at the invasive light, and groaning softly. It was far too early, his body moans to itself, as he adjusts to the lights above to finally peel his hands away from his countenance.  
  
All he sees when he blinks away the sleep from his eyes is the sight of his nurse with her arms crossed over her chest, her head nonchalantly nodding in the direction of the food tray that lays on the table top."It's already ten in the morning, Mr. Alcântara, and it's almost time for you to go into surgery. You will have no solids this morning, only liquids. Understood?"  
  
Rafinha frowns deeply at that, eyeing the water on the top, alongside the soupy-looking—well, whatever that was. "I understand, yeah.. Can't I just have a burger for breakfast or some cookies?"  
  
And the woman looks less than amused as she blinks at him. "That would certainly not be appropriate to consume before undergoing surgery, sir."  
  
"Right.. Thank you, ma'am."  
  
She nods her regards at that and turns to leave for the door before remembering something as she turns on her heel, "Oh. I almost forgot. We received a plant of some sort for you this morning, it's from one of your teammate's, I believe. One moment, please."  
  
"Don't I have enough roses in all different shades?" The woman offers him a pointed look, her eyes narrowed slightly, before she exits the room for a minute or less, returning with a small plant in a pot in her arms.  
  
"This thing came in this morning, from a—" She pauses momentarily to glance at the tiny note that came along with it, squinting slightly at the name, then glances back at Rafinha who looks exhilarated at the sight. "A Marc-André ter Stegen?"  
  
Russet cheeks are bashfully flushing at the name and he awkwardly clears his throat as he reaches out for the plant, resting it upon his lap, eyes overlooking it. "It's not a thing, it's a Bonsai tree." Defends the Midfielder who glances up at the woman who quirks a brow at him. "Thank you, for this."  
  
She utters a sound akin to a grunt and turns to leave for the door, "Don't try to get up again this time either, sir."  
  
"I won't."  
  
Nimble fingers fiddle with the tiny note that's plastered to the side of the porcelain pot and tugs at it until its peeled off. Ivory teeth nibble at his plump lower lip anxiously, inhaling through his nose, before releasing his lip in favor of exhaling through his mouth. Why was he getting antsy over a note? It was a simple gesture, all the guys had sent him something, so was it really that serious of a situation?  
  
Chocolate hues glance over the note and he can almost hear the sound of the German's barely-accented Spanish at the back of his mind:  
  
**'** _I know how you like Bonsai and I know things are crazy right now, but I hope this can bring a little harmony to your hospital room. I know it's not much but it's something, right? Just wanted to let you know I was thinking about you. I'm only one call away, Rafa, so if you ever need me.. I'm here, even if I'm not there ~~-here. Does that even—..~~ Never mind. I'm just going to scribble that out. I wish I could there with you but we're already in Vigo training and the game is tomorrow.. ~~I almost don't want you to watch it because I don't think I can do it without you there.~~ I miss you._  
  
_- branca de neve xx_  
  
_(( and, yes, i know you put that as my contact name. but it fits, so i might let you keep it. :p ))_ **'**  
  
Instead of attempting to move the plant onto the table—which would have proven futile anyway since he would probably end up dropping it on the floor—he allows it to rest within his lap. Part of him is thirsty for the bottle of water upon the table, but he muses that it's only because he was flushed about the note, not because of an actual need to hydrate.  
  
He nonchalantly turns on the television to find a cartoon playing and decides that something lighthearted would surely assist in keeping his mood upbeat and positive like it was now. Rafinha could honestly say he was ready to conquer the big scary beast that was surgery; he had no qualms or fears about it now that those most important to him were sure to be there if things went awry. Not that he thought about that aspect, no, he was far too positive to dip down into the murky pools of negativity.  
  
Absently he reaches for his phone that he has tucked away under his pillow to check over whatever text messages or voicemails were left there. When the screen illuminates he finds the battery is red and blinking, letting him know that he needed to acquire a charger from somewhere, but completely disregards it in favor of more messages from not only Marc but his family and other teammates as well.  
  
That's right, news spread fast, he was sure even the fans knew about his surgery this afternoon. Oh, the glories of social media.  
  
First he read the ones from his family and found himself grinning at the words of encouragement from Thiago, who even took the time out to type out the lullaby in its entirety. As if telling him that he would somehow find peace under the use of anesthesia. After all: he had read about out on his phone the other day, apparently it was the best sleep you would ever get. Maybe his hazy mind would find solace in the tranquility, and that maybe he would understand just what was going on with him.  
  
Then he takes the time to read throughout the full team's messages of praise and reassurances, and he finds himself grinning even broader at the sight. One or two of the men mentioned Marc sulking throughout practices and how Rafinha should ' _spare him a text or two_ ,' sometime. Of course he chuckles at that and then finally finds himself glancing over Marc's messages.  
  
And that familiar race of his heart speeds up and palpitates against his chest. Thumping and thumping and thumping. He really did have a problem. That didn't prevent the grin that spreads readily across his lips and the glint that gleams within his chocolate irises as he reads over them again and again until he finds himself at least somewhat satisfied with its contents.  
  
**| to: branca de neve** |**  
**[ text: 11:01AM | 9/22/2015 ]** lots of harmony in my hospital room thanks to you ;)  
  
**| to: branca de neve** |**  
**[ text: 11:01AM | 9/22/2015 ]** you're my own personal superman, meu deus. thanks for the bonsai, marquinho, i needed that.  <3  
  
**| from: branca de neve** |**  
**[ text: 11:02AM | 9/22/2015 ]** I guess that makes you my kryptonite then? No need to thank me, though. Just trying to bring you some peace before you.. Go under? Gott, I hate thinking of it. You're okay, right?  
  
**| to: branca de neve** |**  
**[ text: 11:03AM | 9/22/2015 ]** you probably shouldn't tell me i'm your weakness, i'll probably make you buy me a whole flat of bonsai or something like that hahaha  
  
**| to: branca de neve** |**  
**[ text: 11:03AM | 9/22/2015 ]** make you watch old brazilian films with me and torture you by making you stay at my flat for the week  
  
**| from: branca de neve** |**  
**[ text: 11:05AM | 9/22/2015 ]** Does that actually count as torture? You make me do that anyway. Lol... You never answered me, though.. Everything's good? You're not giving your nurse hell? Again.  
  
**| to: branca de neve** |**  
**[ text: 11:06AM | 9/22/2015 ]** honestly? i dont know why she hates me and im really not that bad of a patient lmao  
  
**| to: branca de neve** |**  
**[ text: 11:06AM | 9/22/2015 ]** all i ask for is basic necessities like burgers and soda or at least something that isn't boring... i probably need a wheelchair tbh.. but i'd probably wheel away and she'd have to chase me again  
  
**| from: branca de neve** |**  
**[ text: 11:09AM | 9/22/2015 ]** I bet she'll have a field day once you're out of surgery and on pain-killers, then you can't try any escape tactics. Though I'll try and help you escape whenever I can come over, it just involves stealin  
  
**| from: branca de neve** |**  
**[ text: 11:09AM | 9/22/2015 ]** g some wheelchairs and racing down the hallway. Though if we get caught, I'll have to blame it on your and your power of persuasion.  
  
**| to: branca de neve** |**  
**[ text: 11:11AM | 9/22/2015 ]** blame the temporarily crippled. thanks, marquinho, i appreciate it. bastard. hahaha  
  
**| to: branca de neve** |**  
**[ text: 11:11AM | 9/22/2015 ]** would you really do whatever i tell you to tho? i mean, if i'm your weakness, you don't have a choice  
  
**| from: branca de neve** |**  
**[ text: 11:15AM | 9/22/2015 ]** Try me?   
  
**| to: branca de neve** |**  
**[ text: 11:16AM | 9/22/2015 ]** send me a pic?  
  
**| from: branca de neve** |**  
**[ text: 11:21AM | 9/22/2015 ]** **INCOMING IMAGE!**  
  
**| from: branca de neve** |**  
**[ text: 11:21AM | 9/22/2015 ]**  
  
  
  
**| to: branca de neve** |**  
**[ text: 11:22AM | 9/22/2015 ]** how did you even take that if you're by yourself, merdinha?  
  
**| from: branca de neve** |**  
**[ text: 11:23AM | 9/22/2015 ]** Friendly neighborhood self-timer, Rafa.  
  
**| to: branca de neve** |**  
**[ text: 11:24AM | 9/22/2015 ]** cute. but hey, i gotta go. prepping for surgery and stuff before 12 then i go under the whole sleeping beauty scenario  
  
**| from: branca de neve** |**  
**[ text: 11:25AM | 9/22/2015 ]** You're going to be okay, Rafael, I mean it. Now go and then come back to me?  
  
**| to: branca de neve** |**  
**[ text: 11:28AM | 9/22/2015 ]** that i think i can promise.. see? you're rubbing off on me. haha  
  
**| from: branca de neve** |**  
**[ text: 11:29AM | 9/22/2015 ]** I hope so. :)  
  
**| from: branca de neve** |**  
**[ text: 11:30AM | 9/22/2015 ]** Sweet dreams. x  
  
Soon he finds himself being carted off towards a different wing of the hospital to meet up with one of the best surgeons in all of Barcelona. He knew he would be alright, that was a given, but he was eager to get this whole situation over with so he could return home to his daily life. Return to his new-found family at Barcelona.  
  
Even though optimism sifts through his veins, he doesn't have the strength to smile, not even slightly. Instead his lips remain in a set line as he stares up at the ceiling and the passing doors until he's wheeled into his designated operating room, which is surrounded by men and women in powder-blue scrubs. It's a pretty color, muses the brunet, even as he's transported onto the operation table.  
  
Doctors are talking to him in calm and collected voices as they instruct him on what would occur and how anesthesia works, as well as the side effects that aren't notoriously serious. And then like that he has a clear mask placed over his face and he inhales the scent of bubblegum—he convinced them to give him that instead of the regular, even if it was meant for children—and finds his eyes leisurely blinking until he finds spots of stark white and midnight black flicker across his vision.  
  
His thoughts are void up until the last moment, his head slightly swaying this way and that upon the table, until finally his mind enters the endless abyss of slumber. There are a variety of things that flash beneath his lids just when he hits the moment of sleep; bonsai plants, the smile of his brother, and the face of one particular blond that stares at him with such a peculiar gleam in his cerulean irises.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this two days ago but just got around to posting it today D:
> 
> SN: I had a dream last night about Rafa... I texted him or something and the only thing he would respond with was pics of random bonsai trees ?? I can't even


	4. dirty little secret;*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm struggling coming up with ideas for this.. It was only supposed to be a one-shot D:
> 
> I'm bad with fics. :p

Some say dreams were a direct insight to thoughts that are present at the back of your conscience. These thoughts are often a apart of waking life as well, but are not typically accessed when one is awake. Images flicker through the darkness of slumber and sequences play out that wouldn't typically in the real world.

And he had just woken up after a few hours—so why does he feel peculiarly poetic all of a sudden? Drugs were stupid, mused the brunet, as he comes to beneath the faint lights of his hospital room. The internet was right, waking up after surgery was probably the best sleep he had gotten since checking into the godforsaken place.

He shifts in his place and freezes when he doesn't feel his knee, swiftly tearing away the sheets to survey the scene. Fingers press at the button upon the tiny remote in his cot and his nurse comes in minutes later with a mild look of annoyance crossing her countenance.

Before she can part her lips to speak, however, the brunet is already blubbering: "Is my leg even there? Did you do the ampu—.. The amputat—.. The.." He makes peculiar movements with his hands in a dull attempt at conveying his message but his arms flail instead like limp spaghetti noodles. "I can't feel my leg.."

All the nurse does is blink at him then walk over towards his bed stare down at him, "You just went through surgery and the drugs and the surgery itself has a side effect that makes your leg feel numb, sir. You still have your leg, it's right there, you just saw it. The numbness shouldn't last that long."

"I, uh—I watched a movie.." Fingers snap in an attempt to recall what it was but its hard to see through the fog that is now his brain, drool slightly dribbling from the corner of his mouth. "Oh! Yes! Professor X? He couldn't feel his legs either and now I can't feel my leg and—Meu deus. Am I going to go bald and wheel around in a chair for the rest of my life—..? I want my brother.."

Meanwhile his nurse looks like she's contemplated her life choices and pondering why she had become a nurse in the first place. "Sir, I recommend you calm down, or go back to sleep. The side effects will wear off in just a few hours, but it would happen sooner if you would just sleep. Though I suppose I will allow you to contact your brother. Now, would you like some water?"

Rafinha pouts slightly and absently wipes at his mouth and groans. "Just wanna get out of here so I can go home and—And.. Play with balls.." His hands create more of a square than the circle he was going for but it doesn't seem to phase him as he sniffles. "I need my—my thing." Fingers pretend to play the keys on a piano and glances up pointedly at the woman, whose lips actually twitch upwards at that.

"I will bring you your laptop, alright? You stay put and don't move a muscle, this time you will fall and will not be able to get up without the use of assistance." But all Rafinha hears is, 'If you fall, I'm letting you suffer until someone walks by.'

But he doesn't say anything as he watches the woman turn towards the door where a simple closet was located, sifting around for a moment, before returning with his laptop. She rests it gently upon his lap and even presses the 'on' button for him to which he sighs wistfully at. Palms press against the sheets as he attempts to push himself back into a sitting position but fails, eyes going glassy.

Before he can speak, the woman sighs, and then goes to the bed to tamper with the buttons on the side. Eventually he's up into a suitable position and he grins broadly as stares at his computer screen. There are bubbles where the screen has timed out and he actually reaches out to pop them, and the nurse only grins broader at that.

Eventually Rafinha frowns when he is prompted to type in his password and stares in wonder, pointing towards his screen when everything loads completely. "Did you see that?" It's a whispered sound of bewilderment as he clicks on the familiar blue symbol with an 'S' there. 

Already he sees a few concerned messaged from Thiago as well as the rest of his teammates and a few of his other family members. But, as promised, he clicks on the name of his elder brother and it only rings a moment before the latter answers with a relieved sigh.

"Meu deus, it's about time. We're so far away as is but knowing you were in surgery and away like that made the distance seem even worse." Everything is said in such a blur that the brunet just blinks and coins the latter a goofy smile, "you're still a little loopy, aren't you?"

Chocolate hues turn into golden pools as he stares in amusement at his elder brother, "I have no idea what you're talking about, Thi, I feel good.. Like.. Really, really good. Like, I could go skydiving right now and I wouldn't be scared or anything at all because that's how good I feel."

"Still loopy then, I figured that much." Thiago murmurs more to himself than actually aloud at the latter but a broad grin spreads across his lips nonetheless. "So, how was it? Any weird dreams or all-around deja-vu?"

"I dunno.. I don't remember much? All I remember is mist and bubblegum and then I think I was high? I've never been high before, right? But I'm high now?" The latter opens his mouth to retort but Rafinha hushes him with a wave of his hand in the air: "Ah, doesn't matter. I just feel good."

Blink, blink. Thiago, who usually has an eloquent response to most things, only stares at his younger sibling and shakes his head. "You're lucky you're adorable, Rafa, you sound a little insane right now. But, then again, when do you not?"

It's a tease, the brunet knows, but he still sticks his tongue out and offers the latter a raspberry nonetheless. "I'm not crazy, I'm just high. And it's not illegal since the doctors did it, right? I'm not going to jail for smoking the—.. Inhaling the stuff?"

"I wish I could record you right now, you're actually concerned about your actions, and that's honestly the weirdest thing ever. Look at you, a little anesthetics made you an innocent little marshmallow."

Rafinha points a finger in the air like he's suddenly remembered something that had long since gone from memory and then points the finger towards the camera. "I had to tell you something." 

"Yeah, you did. What's got you all weird? Well, weirder than normal? You only get like this when you have feeli—No, you'd tell me if that were the case.. I don't know actually, what's going on in that little mind of your yours?"

"I—Okay, okay, so. Have you ever looked at a guy and thought 'hey, you're pretty hot, and I'd probably fuck you if you weren't a guy?' Because I'm not gay or anything, I just think that sometimes, you do that too right?" It's inquired in the most innocent of voices ever and the brunet stares pointedly at the camera, pressing the tips of his pointer fingers together.

Thiago looks positively bewildered by the confession and he scrambles for a suitable response before the latter reacts. But when he opens his mouth, no words are uttered, and instead he purses his lips tighter together. Rafinha notices the reaction but his mind is far too fleeting to focus on it and motions with his hands as if urging a response from the elder.

The elder only smiles reassuringly before he glances off towards the corner of the screen, ivory teeth chewing at his lower lip. "I, uh, I've never actually done that? You do that a lot or—..?"

Offense plasters across the younger's countenance and he places a dramatic hand over his heart and even scoffs at the inquisition. "I don't look at every random guy in the street and think I want to do them or whatever, jeez, Thi. What kind of man do you think I am? I mean, it's not weird, right? Not that I think it's weird, it's just a random sort of thought, y'know? Like Marc? He's pretty sexy for a guy, but that's all bro love."

"I've never, err, looked at a guy and thought about—about 'doing them.' It's more of a thing I do with girls? But I haven't since Júlia anyway." Rafinha furrows his brows and muses that thought but doesn't speak. "So... What are you trying to say? Are you, uh, playing for both teams? So to speak?"

"I only play for Barça, Thi, are you sure you haven't been under the sleepy gas?"

Thiago scratches at his cheek then glances anywhere but the camera, clearing his throat awkwardly. "You're right, yeah, I don't know what I was thinking. Heh." He scratches at the back of his neck then glances towards the camera once more with a soft smile: "So which Marc? Bartra? Ter Stegen? I dunno, a secret friend I don't know about?

"Bartra is like my brother, like you, and that would just be weird. Imagine if I was into you, that'd just be gross, and you wouldn't even be my type anyway.. Same with Bartra, though he does have gorgeous eyes now that I think about it. Ter, it's him. He's just so—so.. Y'know?" He motions aimlessly with his hands and has the broadest of grins on his lips when he breathes his name, "He's kinda hot in a big and brooding German sort of way. I get these little butterfly things in my stomach when I talk to him or stare into his impossibly blue eyes that are sort of like the oceans here in Barcelona. Huh."

"O-oh. Yeah, um, that's not weird at all. Not in my opinion, but other people might take that in the wrong way. I, uh—When's the last time you had a girlfriend again?"

"Why are we talking about girls, Thiago?" Whines the brunet as he buries his face within his hands and releases an agitated groan: "why can't we just talk about Marquinho?"

"Okay, so. I'm just gonna say this in the most blunt way possible because it's what I honestly believe and I hope you don't get upset with me, baby brother." There's a brief pause and a deep inhale before the eldest speaks once more. "I think you're gay, or maybe bi? Hell, I don't know, but—Straight guys don't think about screwing around with their 'bros.' And, lemme be the first to say, I don't care if you like girls or guys or—or whatever else is out there and I'll always love and accept you for who you are, but I think you need to admit it to yourself that you are."

An amused chuckle spews from plump lips at that and his body shudders with the force of it, far too giggly about the subject than the latter probably expected. "I'm not gay just because I'm into Marc, silly. I mean—let's be real, everyone's thought about it once.. Is this a trick? Meu deus, you're high too?" Another fit of giggles engulfs the Brazilian and this time he grips at his stomach, sending the laptop sliding off his lap and onto the thin sheets.

"Rafa, stop. I'm not laughing, this is serous, I'm serious. This is something we need to talk about once your mind is clear. If you have to be borderline high to tell me this, I can only imagine how long it'll take for you to talk to me about it when you're sober, so to speak."

"You're such a buzzkill," groans the younger male when he finally rights his laptop once more. "Oh, hey! I had a dream about you! We were back in Brasil in the rain forest and I think we were on Survivor? And I think you covered yourself in tree sap but then you fell in the dirt, but then somehow there was a talking Jaguar like—like the Jungle Book!"

"Are you trying to change the subject? Or? You know what, it doesn't matter. Just think about it, will you? Don't go blabbing off to the guys about it yet either, not until you're sure. I don't even know if this is you talking right now or the drugs.. Whatever medication they have you taking, it's got you royally plastered." Thiago releases another sigh and he runs slender digits throughout his dark locks, frowning slightly.

Rafinha utters another groan as he sinks further down into his cot, pouting to mirror the elder. "I told you, I don't do drugs, and I'm not plastered.. Though I think don't think I'd mind a shot.. Think Marc could smuggle in contraband?"

"I can't even talk to you right now, not like this. Look, I'm going to go, I'll call you later on this week. We have a few more games to play and I have to go to practice soon anyway. I love you, okay? Just think about what you told me, though."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah." Chocolate eyes roll promptly as he dismisses the elder, the pout never leaving his lips once. "I love you too, brother. Go kick major ass out on that field for me, I'll even be your cheerleader from here in my lovely abode."

Thiago frowns once more but waves nonetheless, "See you later."

Rafinha doesn't say anything but he does manage a smile before he reluctantly ends the call. Once the log-in screen pops up, he decidedly close his laptop entirely, tucking it safely away to his side. Fingers tap rhythmically against his upper thigh as he contemplates just what that conversation entailed, but figured he would sort out loose ends once he was himself again.

He retrieves his phone to find a litany of text messages that he honestly didn't have the strength to respond to at the moment, not even Marc's. Instead he tucks it back beneath his pillow then shifts onto his side to stare at the chair that rests peacefully there, his eyes narrowing into a hard scowl. 

Sometimes his brother could severely annoy him, and obviously today was one of those days. Muddled brain or not he knew that what he said couldn't have been that serious of a topic. It was just something that had recently began to occur or perhaps—if he were being completely honest—had been happening for an unknown amount of years now. 

Of course he hadn't known how to process the information at the time, nor did he really know how to deal with it now. It seemed like a pattern in his life; more like a habit that he needed to break to avoid more issues in life. Whenever something was difficult to process and understand, the brunet tended to ignore it, at least until the problem went away. Usually it worked but his tactics this time proved useless as the feelings continued to blossom from the seed that had planted when he had first laid eyes on the German keeper. 

Minutes pass before he finally reaches for his phone once more to send a text to someone that was like a brother to him, who was hopefully not busy.

**| to: menino bonito |**  
**[ text: 8:11PM | 9/22/2015 ]** on a scale of 1-10, how gay is it that i think about sexing up guys?

**| from: menino bonito |**  
**[ text: 8:15PM | 9/22/2015 ]** honestly? over 9,000. it's gay, very gay. why? is this about m2? dios mio, it's about time.

**| to: menino bonito |**  
**[ text: 8:16PM | 9/22/2015 ]** you're telling me you've never looked at, i dunno, geri or neymar and thought 'fuck they have a nice body?'

**| from: menino bonito |**  
**[ text: 8:20PM | 9/22/2015 ]** if it'll make you feel better, i'll lie. yes, i have. even though i'm a straight male with a girlfriend and a baby.

**| to: menino bonito |**  
**[ text: 8:21PM | 9/22/2015 ]** IVE DATD GIRLZ AND FUND GUYS CUTE

**| to: menino bonito |**  
**[ text: 8:22PM | 9/22/2015 ]** IT NOT WERD BARTRA

**| to: menino bonito |**  
**[ text: 8:22PM | 9/22/2015 ]** AND NO IM NOT HIGH RIGHT NOW ITS NOT THE DRUGS I DONT DO DRUGS IM TOO FLY TO BE HIGH

**| from: menino bonito |**  
**[ text: 8:30PM | 9/22/2015 ]** it's okay. you can say gay stuff without being gay. i lied again. embrace it, feel it, love it. 

**| to: menino bonito |**  
**[ text: 8:31PM | 9/22/2015 ]** I MUST B HI CUZ UR NOT MAKING ANY SINCE

**| from: menino bonito |**  
**[ text: 8:32PM | 9/22/2015 ]** Hey, buddy, this is Munir. First, I hope you're okay. Second, your gay is showing. Third, you are high. K, bai.

**| from: menino bonito |**  
**[ text: 8:32PM | 9/22/2015 ]** Oh, and Neymar said to stop being such a princess. And that you should listen to your elders. Excluding me.

**| to: menino bonito |**  
**[ text: 8:33PM | 9/22/2015 ]** i hate you all.

**| from: menino bonito |**  
**[ text: 8:33PM | 9/22/2015 ]** sorry about that, the guys overpowered me. by that i mean dani sat on me and geri held my hands.. but anyw

**| from: menino bonito |**  
**[ text: 8:34PM | 9/22/2015 ]** ay m2 is asked why you're ignoring his txts btw... maybe you should talk to him?

But Rafinha doesn't respond to the text message, no, he instead tosses his phone carelessly towards the end of the bed. He lays there for a moment, fingers curling in the sheets, before he reaches for the plush pillow beneath his head to cover his face with. He releases an agitated and thoroughly perplexed shriek for a solid thirty-seconds before he releases the pillow for a much needed breath.

Tonight he doesn't respond to any messages he receives in favor of returning back to the silence that slumber allow; perhaps tomorrow he could figure things out, but not tonight, not while his mind was rampant and still hazy with thought. 

Tomorrow, yeah.

Things would be better tomorrow.


End file.
